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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361284">Transfigured by Love: A Symbolic Analysis of the Inheritance Cycle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodravenclaw/pseuds/bloodravenclaw'>bloodravenclaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Analysis, Character Analysis, Gen, Meta, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:35:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodravenclaw/pseuds/bloodravenclaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is an analysis of the symbolism and themes of Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle. It also clarifies certain aspects of characterization, motivation, and worldbuilding which Paolini leaves to the reader's inference. I am an Orthodox Christian and my analysis comes through this worldview, though I did not write this to be a specifically Christian work, and I think that anyone who loves the books can find interesting ideas here that add to a richer understanding of the series. This work contains SPOILERS for all four books.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had intended to edit this some more and to write a conclusion, but after sitting on this for at least a couple months I have worked on it as much as I am going to and just want to get it out into the world. In the process of writing this, I posted many draft sections to my tumblr, some of which did not make the final cut because they were not quite on-topic. However, if you are interested in my secondary analysis posts, they are available at florescent-luminescence.tumblr.com/tagged/eragon. I may at a later date return and add more (in particular, I have more to say about the Ra'zac), but for the time being I am done with it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It is not good for man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18)</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inheritance Cycle</span>
  </em>
  <span> by Christopher Paolini is a series of four high fantasy novels, published from 2002 to 2011, set in a fictional land called Alagaesia. In the books, a poor farm boy named Eragon finds a dragon egg in the mountains and must take up the mantle of the legendary Dragon Riders to defeat the evil king and fallen Rider, Galbatorix. The books inspire plenty of discussion on internet forums up to the present, but most of this discussion consists of speculation about in-universe details (who is the mysterious witch Angela? Did Eragon really encounter one of the dwarves’ gods?). I have yet to see anyone tackle the symbolic meaning of the story, even though the books contain just as much rich material from this angle as from one of in-universe speculation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The emotional core of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inheritance Cycle</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the source of its most powerful themes, lies in the relationship between Rider and Dragon. As a lonely child, I adored the books for this reason– what could be more appealing to an awkward, friendless child than a magical companion who loves you unconditionally and with whom you can share all your thoughts and experiences?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From this emotional center I draw out the books’ central meaning-- that of becoming a person through relation to others. Through knowing and being known, loving and being loved, we grow into the people we are meant to be. In this analysis, I will explore different aspects of the series-- the Riders, various antagonists, and the relationships of various characters-- and how they reveal this message.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Specific Instantiations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The most obvious theme of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inheritance Cycle</span>
  </em>
  <span> is right there in the titling– of the series, of the final book, and of not one, but two chapters throughout the series. On a basic level, these are books about inheritance, fate, and legacy. It’s important to the novels and pretty cool (I enjoyed picking out all the different related threads, especially with regards to Brom, Morzan, Murtagh, both Saphiras, and both Eragons), but it’s also obvious to even a casual reader. In this exploration, I wanted to draw out the work’s less obvious, but more important, messages. More interesting, more relevant to the real world, and more integral to the novels is the theme of becoming through the mutual knowledge and love of another. The bond between dragon and Rider is the strongest instantiation of this theme, but also illustrative are the relationships between Murtagh and Nasuada and between Roran and Katrina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We do not exist on our own. Exceedingly rare is the person meant to live as an anchorite, and even anchorites are not alone, for they live in communion with God. And God Himself is never alone, for He is three and one, all three existing together from eternity. As we are made in His image, built into our natures is the need for communion with others. Though the world of Alagaesia lacks an emphasis on personal relationships with a personal God, the need to know and be known is as present for people there as for us here in our own world. As much as our society likes to pretend that you don’t need anyone else, that it’s possible to lead a self-contained existence, and that only your own self-love matters, this is a lie. Cultural myths about yeoman farmers and rugged frontiersmen are all well and good, but even the most individualistic person has a basic need for family, love, and friendship. This dependence on others is not a bad thing-- it’s part of how we are made. Though not everyone is made for a romantic partnership, all people need some form of companionship. By getting out of our own heads and understanding another, we in turn become more fully ourselves. In thinking of ourselves less, we become ourselves more. The self exists to be given, exemplified beautifully in the final volume when Eragon and Arya share their true names, their essential selves. But with this imperative to form relationships comes fear and insecurity– If I give myself, will I be received? Can I truly understand and be understood? Am I alone in my thoughts? Is true communication possible? What does it mean if it is? What about if not? These fears show the depth of our need for relationships. In the world of the Inheritance Cycle, they find their ultimate resolution in the Rider and dragon relationship, and their confounding in some examples illustrating the effects of twisted relationships.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As an aside, I should mention that, as with most popular books, there exists a community of readers who like to pick apart the books’ every flaw. And the books do, of course, have their flaws, just like every other written work. But even some of the flaws have a symbolic interpretation which contributes to the overall message. For example, people criticize Paolini because Eragon sometimes comes across as an annoying self-insert protagonist, which most readers would agree with. But may I suggest– are we not all annoying self-inserts? One of the common criticisms of the series is that Eragon should be some special person for Saphira to have chosen him. The whole series, characters (and readers!) are disappointed that he’s just some mildly disappointing teenager with no special talents or character traits, despite being set up as this amazing person destined to save Alagaesia and reinstitute the Dragon Riders. I argue, though, that Eragon’s annoying, disappointing just-some-guyness is of symbolic importance. Nobody is special all by himself. Nobody becomes an exceptional person or a good person or even a complete person alone. They develop and become more fully themselves in healthy relation to others. After all, Frodo Baggins wasn’t such a special hobbit, either, and only managed to destroy the Ring because of his relationships with Sam and even Gollum. Most people do not choose their spouses and friends from among only the most exceptional people in all the land. They choose them from among people they just happen to meet, with whom they find a connection and with whom they make an ongoing, daily decision to have a relationship and grow alongside. So, too, do the dragons in the Inheritance Cycle choose their riders– one flawed person meeting another flawed person and sensing an affinity or connection. Saphira isn’t any more special than any other dragon, and Eragon by himself isn’t so special either, and that’s ok. They become special and powerful and capable of fulfilling their quest through their synergistic relationship. Together, they become greater than either could alone. Eragon being anything other than a mildly annoying self-insert just like all the rest of us would actually undermine the theme of the books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is my red the same as someone else’s red? Can we ever understand someone else’s qualia, or have them understand ours? Can people know each other’s pain? In the bond between dragon and Rider, these anxieties find their resolution. As it turns out, Eragon’s red isn’t Saphira’s (as he finds out for the first time over Leona Lake when Saphira melds her mind with his to give him her experience of flight), but that’s okay, because he and Saphira can understand one another even in their differences. In real life, we cannot transmit our thoughts and experiences straight into someone else’s mind, but the symbolism of the bond between dragon and Rider shows us the peace and growth that we can find when we open ourselves to others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The magic of the Riders’ pact forges peace between their two races, but also changes both irrevocably– the dragons become more civilized and gain the ability to use language, and the elves gain longer lives, increased magical abilities, and greater physical strength. The elves would not be the elves as they are, nor would the dragons be themselves, nor would humans be as they are, without the pact between the races. The resulting changes accumulate over time in the races added to the pact later on and are even more apparent in bonded dragons and Riders. On both a species and personal level, the magical pact between the dragons and other races transforms the members on both sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dragon and Rider bonds becomes something like a marriage, with the two halves forming a whole that is greater than either, but with each still retaining his or her own individuality, initiative, and ability to act alone. As in a marriage, they become permanently joined. They become one flesh in a nearly literal sense, often feeling each other’s most intense physical and emotional experiences. On various occasions throughout the series, Eragon and Saphira blur the lines between their selves until they cannot tell whose body is whose. And though both Eragon and Saphira may be the parent of their own offspring with members of their own species, together they will become the “parents” and guardians of the next generations of Riders. As they spend more time together, the two grow in love and knowledge of each other. They also become stronger, physically and in magic, together and apart. But even so, they are not codependent. Though they prefer togetherness, they can separate as well, shown by Eragon’s lone adventures in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brisingr</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Saphira’s separate relationship with Firnen, or their different ways of approaching problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eragon’s change at the Blood-Oath Celebration shows the culmination of the dragon and Rider unity on both an individual and species level. When during the dance of the Caretakers the embodiment of the pact between the dragons and other races, the sentient image tattooed onto the bodies of the two elf women, transforms Eragon and heals him of his curse, the transformation completes the process that began when Saphira hatched for him and his connection with her began to work its changes on him. Through his individual relationship with Saphira, the union between dragons and the other races, and the work of the Eldunari in the Vault of Souls, Eragon is healed and made complete, just as we all are healed and made complete in communion with others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This transfiguration is not limited just to the Riders, though they are the most prominent example. We see the same happen with non-Rider characters, as well. For example, Roran only finds the strength to lead the villagers away from Palancar Valley and to fight against the Empire through his love for Katrina and the pain caused by her kidnapping by the Ra’zac. (Sloan’s selfish, twisted obsession is the dark version of Roran’s single-minded but self-sacrificial love). Later, it is his love for Katrina and their unborn child from which he draws the strength and determination to accomplish his legendary feats and to escape from countless near-death experiences. Without this love at the core of his being, he would not have become Roran Stronghammer, and would have been just one more displaced peasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another example of transfiguration by love comes from the development of Nasuada and Murtagh’s relationship in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inheritance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Murtagh, name-slave as he is to Galbatorix, does not want to serve him in his tyranny over the peoples of Alagaesia, but has no power to resist. During their fight on the Burning Plains, Eragon tells Murtagh that all hope is not lost and that he could become free again, if only he could change himself, thus changing his true name and breaking the bonds Galbatorix has on him and Thorn. But Murtagh refuses to consider this option, fearing that such a change would mean he’d become a worse person, someone who delights in the cruelty Galbatorix demands of him, and that changing would be the same as death. And he’s not wrong– such a change in one’s self is a type of death. It is not until Murtagh meets Nasuada again during her imprisonment in the Hall of the Soothsayer that he begins to realize that change is not only a death, but also a rebirth. Instead of succumbing to his situation and embracing cruelty as his father had done, Murtagh transcends it– his new love for Nasuada enables him to get out of his own head and to put the good of the other above his own pain. Without trying or even realizing it, the love that grows between him and Nasuada during the course of her imprisonment transforms him, and as a result he receives a new true name and breaks Galbatorix’s bonds. He changes from Nasuada’s unwilling torturer to her willing healer and attempted rescuer. Love strengthens him, shines through him, and frees him. As in baptism we die to our old selves and are reborn with new names in God’s love, so too does Murtagh through love die to his old, corrupted self with a new true name and tries to save Nasuada from her underground, crypt-like prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murtagh’s transformation mirrors that of his mother Selena– like Murtagh, she begins as the servant of an evil master, sent to do his bidding and torture his enemies. And like Murtagh, love transforms her– she and Brom fall in love, and her love for Brom and their son causes her to renounce Morzan and the Empire and to spend the last months of her life fleeing back to Carvahall to ensure Eragon’s safety. As selfless love worked the change that freed her from Morzan’s control, it also changed Murtagh and freed him from his father’s legacy.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Galbatorix, Shruikan, and the Empire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Readers of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inheritance Cycle </span>
  </em>
  <span>sometimes find it challenging to parse the structure of the Empire and the basis for Galbatorix’s actions. Most of it is not explicitly laid out, and as a result it is easy to hand-wave the issue as lazy world building or poor characterization. All that Paolini reveals directly is that when a young Dragon Rider, Galbatorix’s first dragon died, then Galbatorix went mad, turned against the Riders, recruited other power-hungry Riders (the Forsworn) to his cause, and took over most of the human-inhabited lands of the continent, forming “the Empire”. The details of motivation and governance exist in the text, but the reader has to put them together himself, as with many other details left up to inference throughout the novels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually, I find that “and then he went mad and became Evil” feels like lazy writing from an author who can’t or doesn’t want to develop a more compelling antagonist. Here, too, it’s not ideal– the “mad king” archetype has its place, but Paolini leans hard on it when he could have created a more legible character. However, “and then he went mad” is not all that happened with Galbatorix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galbatorix “goes mad” after his dragon Jarnunvosk tragically dies young. Like human beings, dragons might choose anyone as a partner, not necessarily someone who’s special on his own. Galbatorix likely already possessed some degree of instability, as do real humans who still move through life fine. But, as attested to by Brom and Galedr, the loss of one’s bonded partner presents incredible pain and distress even for the most stable. When one half of a Rider/dragon partnership dies, the other feels a part of himself die as well. One of the central anxieties of existence, </span>
  <em>
    <span>am I alone with myself?, </span>
  </em>
  <span>finds its resolution in the bond between dragon and Rider. Then, when one half of the partnership finds himself alone again after having had a relationship of perfect understanding torn away forever, the pain almost destroys him. It’s common for Riders to lose touch with reality for at least a while after a dragon’s death, which is what happens to Galbatorix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon finding himself with an endless void within himself and surrounded by loneliness, Galbatorix convinces himself that the elder Riders can grant him another dragon. Though not stated directly in the novels, he’s deluding himself– there is no such possibility. On some occasions, a Rider whose dragon has died may bond with another egg, but nobody can guarantee that it will happen. There is no way to force an egg to hatch, and no way to “give” Galbatorix a new dragon. In convincing himself that he’s entitled to a new dragon and that the Riders can give him one, he loses sight of the very nature of the Rider/dragon relationship. He reduces a unique individual and special relationship to an object to assuage his own pain. His life was shaped and anchored by his relationship with his first dragon, and after his dragon dies, his conception of reality has warped so much that he forgets the relationship’s core-- he believes that another just like the first can be granted him out of thin air. The elder Riders see his derangement, and rightfully tell him that they cannot and will not grant his request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what he sees as the Riders’ callous refusal, he resolves to steal a new dragon, the black hatchling who will become Shruikan as he appears in the final installment of the series. By killing Shruikan’s first Rider, he forces the young dragon to suffer the same pain he himself experienced at Jarnunvosk’s death. And in contrast to the usual custom of letting a young dragon choose his own name, Galbatorix selects the name Shruikan for him. He then bonds Shruikan to himself, not through the ancient magic of the pact between their species or through the natural process of friendship and cooperation, but forcibly, resulting in a twisted relationship in which Shruikan is his prisoner, not his partner. Instead of having a dragon’s natural will and spontaneity, he becomes Galbatorix’s slave. He controls neither his mind nor his body, for Galbatorix uses his magical prowess to force the dragon’s loyalty and to make him grow more quickly and larger than he should. Shruikan’s loss of his personhood prefigures the Banishing of the Names enacted on the dragons of the Forsworn– as Shruikan has his identity forcibly stripped from him in his enslavement, so too do the Forsworn dragons lose theirs by willingly serving Galbatorix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the nature of Galbatorix’s madness– the loss of his ability to love and the resulting willingness to try anything to fill the void in his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here we reach another of the questions people sometimes have about Paolini’s writing of the antagonists: If Galbatorix has such a powerful dragon at his disposal, why doesn’t he send him out to attack the Varden’s troops (the coalition of humans and other fantasy races who oppose Galbatorix), and why do we only see him twice in the entire series? In light of my exploration of Shruikan and Galbatorix’s relationship, his small role in the series makes sense. For one, in a proper Rider/dragon relationship, the dragon isn’t some attack dog trained to fight at the Rider’s command. The dragon is a real person with his own initiative, spontaneity, and magic. Galbatorix could still plausibly have used Shruikan as an attack dog, but it’s equally believable that doing so is beyond even his considerable abilities, and that keeping him locked in the palace is all he can manage. Dragons, even enslaved, are immensely powerful and willful magical beings. Shruikan in his anger and misery might give Galbatorix reason to worry that he would rebel if allowed any freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To set up my next point, first I have to explain what, exactly, the Empire is to Galbatorix. His madness comes from emptiness in his heart resulting from loss, and shows what happens when people turn inwards to avoid the pain of loving others. In light of this emptiness, all Galbatorix’s actions start to make symbolic sense– the slave trade, his treatment of Shruikan, the conscriptions, the heavy taxation, the feeding of human beings to his insectoid assassins, the Ra’zac. After all, if humans are no more than objects to use for his own ends, none of these actions matter. As Eragon’s mentor Oromis tells him, Galbatorix spends nearly all his time in his palace and has little hand in the day-to-day running of the Empire. He doesn’t seem interested in exercising power, even though he has so much of it. Instead, he spends his time engaged with various debaucheries– Oromis doesn’t specify, but usually this sort of phrasing refers to drugs, prostitution, or similar. In the final book, it is mentioned that Galbatorix has numerous concubines in the palace, and as with Shruikan, he loves none of them. But, the specifics of Galbatorix’s hedonism don’t matter– the point is, it’s the sort of unhealthy activity people engage in to fill some lack elsewhere in one’s life. Galbatorix doesn’t care about doing king things and has no true relationships, preferring to spend his time in pleasure-seeking. So, what’s his business running an empire?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Empire is just a giant tax extraction scheme so that Galbatorix can keep trying to fill the void that not even his enslaved dragon can fill, because the only thing that can fill it is honest communion with another person. From a practical perspective, of course the Empire is a tax-extraction scheme– running any government involves taxation. From a symbolic perspective, too, it makes sense– Galbatorix is empty and must leech away the livelihoods of other people to feel less so, but it never solves his problem. Think about some of the key features of the Empire itself– scattered settlements, low population, few major cities, lack of infrastructure, and difficult travel (especially across the near-impassable mountain range down its middle). It does not match the pattern of any other empire from world history. Meanwhile, everyone bemoans the high taxes. The military seems to exist to squeeze taxes out of the populace more than to defend from other nations, who rarely interact with the Empire. Galbatorix’s lords siphon money off the merchant class more than they do anything else. There are even multiple populations within its borders not under Galbatorix’s control– the nomads of the plains, the tribes at the edge of the Hadarac desert, and of course the Urgals, who have their own nation deep within the mountains and rarely encounter outsiders. Despite Galbatorix’s image as a powerful autocrat, his realm is a far-flung, loosely-controlled conglomeration of cities and villages, not a true empire. All Galbatorix does is sit in his palace and collect taxes from various settlements around Alagaesia, the better to distract himself from being alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ironically, Galbatorix’s power comes from his ability to understand people and make them feel as though he cares about them and has their best interests at heart. Note how Eragon’s friend Murtagh describes his exchanges with Galbatorix when he and Eragon were traveling to the Varden– Galbatorix can paint a beautiful picture, promising a world of peace, prosperity, and plenty, with a new order of Riders (under Galbatorix, of course) to maintain law and order. Murtagh knows the truth of Galbatorix’s regime, but still finds himself susceptible to that enchanting voice and the seductive promises it makes. Galbatorix himself even believes his own tales. It’s unsurprising that he might really think he’s doing good–  he never even ventures out of his palace. Having already lost the ability to form relationships that desire the good of the other, he cannot see and cannot empathize with the real suffering he causes. The pain of realizing it later destroys him. Though Galbatorix has a gift for understanding others, he perverts it. Instead of forming a bridge between people, Galbatorix uses his ability to control, use, and enslave– the clearest example being when he figured out Murtagh’s and his young dragon Thorn’s true names, only possible through the deepest understanding of another, and uses the knowledge to force them into servitude. He subdues the Eldunari (the souls of deceased dragons) under his control in a similar manner. What should have been an act of love, trust, and understanding becomes a mechanism of enslavement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galbatorix becomes a tyrant and the chief antagonist of the books through the great loss he has endured and the emptiness it leaves within him. His reaction to his loss, however, contrasts sharply against those of Eragon and Brom. Eragon, too, experiences terrible loss, more of it and earlier in life than Galbatorix does– his mother Selena, his aunt Mariam, his uncle Garrow, his father and mentor Brom, and finally Oromis. While his desire for vengeance motivates him early in the series, he later acts out of a desire to alleviate the suffering of others and out of love for Saphira. Brom loses his dragon and for a time allows vengeance to consume himself as well, but he turns away from his anger and ends his life in self-sacrificial love for Eragon. Neither Brom nor Eragon allows his loss to consume him forever or to make him into a cruel man.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Brom as a Foil to Galbatorix</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The <em>Inheritance Cycle</em> contains a variety of interesting foil pairs one of the best examples of which is the concordance between Brom and Morzan, which plays a central role in developing the series’ primary set of themes– those of legacy and destiny. While these themes are beautiful and the parallels between the two Riders (and, later, their sons) add a lot to the story, they are too obvious for me to spend effort on explaining what a casual reader could pick up on the first pass, and the resonances between Galbatorix and Brom better illuminate the themes I want to explore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Galbatorix and Brom are Riders whose dragons die young. A Rider can easily lose himself after his dragon’s death, at least for a while. Both Brom and Galbatorix do, and both go on a quest for vengeance– Galbatorix against the Riders whom he hates for their “refusal” to “give” him a second dragon, and Brom against the Forsworn for their role in his dragon Saphira’s death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a time, both allow destructive desires to consume them. Galbatorix subjugates the Eldunari and wages war against the Riders, resulting in their destruction. Brom, meanwhile, becomes “Bane of the Forsworn”, devoting his whole existence to bringing them and Galbatorix down. He makes great strides against the fallen Riders, but is consumed by his efforts. However, Brom eventually turns from his destructiveness and forms the Varden, which ultimately frees Alagaesia from Galbatorix’s rule and births a new kingdom under Nasuada. Galbatorix builds a kingdom too, sort of, but not really– he tacks himself and the name “Empire” onto the preexisting Broddring Kingdom while doing nothing for its upkeep or development. He serves a tax sink for a collection of loosely-organized settlements over a poorly incorporated area with unclear, porous borders– hardly a real nation-building project. In contrast, the Varden under Nasuada forms a new country with a new name and new borders and new relationships with other states and all the major races of Alagaesia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The differences between their personalities are significant, as well– Galbatorix is all smooth talk and charm, while Brom comes across as an irascible, short-tempered old man. People who meet Galbatorix find themselves enchanted by his voice and the images it spins, but also realize, consciously or not, how slimy  his character is. In contrast, people who meet Brom don’t always like him because of his abrasive personality. Nonetheless, people trust him despite his irritability and hidden past, because they know that the rough old man they engage with is Brom’s real self, not a pleasant facsimile created to manipulate them into doing his will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Let’s also look at the manners in which Galbatorix and Brom die. Galbatorix, after so long misusing his communicative gifts for selfish ends, has lost the ability to experience love or empathy. He does not understand the suffering his reign has caused, nor does he care. Because he never faces the effects he has on others, he has convinced himself that all he does is right and justified. Though the drive behind his actions is to fill the void left by the relationship he had with his first dragon, none of his later relationships bear any resemblance to what he lost. Shruikan and the Eldunari are his slaves. He loves no one. Everything Galbatorix does, he does in selfishness. In trying to dull his own pain at his loss, he inflicts the same pain on his subjects and on the Riders and dragons whose partners he kills. So, when Eragon and the dragons’ empathy spell forces Galbatorix to experience all the emotions and suffering he has caused in his life, he feels soul-rending emotional pain as he realizes at once the truth of his actions and relationships. He knows the evil of his life and the grief he has caused the world. He finds himself unable to face the truth. He cannot bear the pain of repentance or the prospect of making things right. He self-immolates, uttering “be not” in the ancient language of magic, closing himself to the pain of knowing another’s experience, and turning away from the possibility of any communion with others at all. Christ elected to suffer on the cross so that we all might become whole, but Galbatorix escapes suffering by choosing nonexistence, destroying even the material of his body and becoming as not-whole as one can get. His inability to relate to others destroys him in the most literal sense.</span>
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  <span>Brom, on the other hand, reacts to the death of the first Saphira differently. Instead of manipulating and enslaving others in a hopeless attempt to fill the void left by her death, he allows real love into his heart again, most notably for Morzan’s servant Selena and then for Eragon, their son. The love between him and Selena allows Selena to free herself from Morzan’s control and begets Eragon, who frees Alagaesia from Galbatorix, showing the generative nature of self-emptying love. He devotes the last months of his life to ensuring Eragon’s safety and training him as a Rider, becoming his mentor and father figure. When the two of them are ambushed during their travels, he throws himself in front of a knife headed for Eragon’s heart and succumbs to his wounds not long afterwards. It is notable, too, what happens to Brom’s body after his death-- Galbatorix destroys his completely, but Brom’s is preserved forever in a diamond tomb erected by Eragon and the second Saphira. Whereas Galbatorix dies because his selfishness has so eroded his ability for such love that the experience of empathy destroys him, Brom allowed himself to be open to relationships with others and ended his life in self-sacrificial love. Though it is his death, it is a noble one, and allows Eragon to continue carrying forward the hopes of the Varden, the Riders, and all the races of Alagaesia.</span>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Shades</h2></a>
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  <span>Like both the Riders and the Ra’zac, the Shades are supernatural beings that play an important role in the series. Like the Riders, they are a union of different fantasy races, and like the Ra’zac, they are utilized by Galbatorix to subjugate the people of the Empire and the Varden. Also like the Ra’zac, they contrast with the Riders in a way that further develops Paolini’s themes of love and becoming through knowing and being known.</span>
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  <span>What is a Shade? They begin as sorcerers, which in the Inheritance universe refers specifically to magicians who summon spirits and get them to do their bidding or give them more powers. In the case of a Shade, the sorcerer summons spirits who overcome him and who possess the body. Sometimes a sorcerer becomes a Shade by accident (like Durza), sometimes one summons powerful spirits for just that purpose, and others (such as Varaug) are forced by others to become Shades. But, all arise through the same basic process: someone wants power and summons spirits to get it, and the spirits in turn possess the body so that they themselves can have all the power.</span>
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  <span>One might compare Shades to people in exorcism-themed horror movies who dabble in the occult, get in too deep, find themselves under demonic influence, and end up needing an exorcist. However, Paolini draws inspiration from vampire myths, as well– his Shades look and act in a way reminiscent of vampires, and can only be killed by stabbing them through the heart. And though Shades do not drink blood, the evil spirits sustain themselves through the sorcerer’s physical life force.</span>
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  <span>In some respects, the Shades bear a resemblance to the Riders. Both are a supernatural union of different people (dragons and spirits being people just as much as humans are people) who become indelibly linked and who together become far more powerful than either could have been alone. However, the ways in which the partnerships differ in their formation and development reveal truths about interpersonal relationships. Whereas dragon and Rider are an equal partnership with each member free to make decisions and act, a Shade consists of a human (or other fantasy race sorcerer) completely enslaved by one or more spirits. The human attempts to summon spirits to force them to do his bidding, and instead the spirits overpower the human and use him as their tool instead. The human cannot make any decisions or act on his own, being completely subjugated by more powerful beings. Though he has achieved the magical powers he wanted, he is no longer even human. He does not even keep his own name. He cannot even die and be released from his enslavement unless his human heart is cut out, destroying him and scattering the possessing spirits. Riders and dragons keep their individuality, but the individuality of the human who becomes a Shade is completely subsumed by his new form. He has become less, not more, of a person through the relationship he has with the spirits.</span>
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  <span>In Eragon, the Shade Durza serves Galbatorix by controlling his Urgal armies in the war against the Varden. However, from the interactions between Durza and Eragon in the Gil’ead prison, it is clear that Durza serves Galbatorix only insofar as it furthers his own desires, and may have a plot to gain permanent power for himself. Though he nominally serves Galbatorix, he cares only for gaining still more power for himself. For now, he enslaves only the Urgals, but he does not seem content to stop there. Just as a sorcerer summons dangerous and powerful spirits for self-serving purposes, Galbatorix employs the services of a dangerous and powerful Shade. And like a sorcerer finding that he cannot control the spirits, Galbatorix cannot hope to control Durza once serving the king no longer suits him. The same is evident late in the series concerning the Shade Varaug– three sorcerers force a man to take spirits into his body in a last-ditch effort to keep Feinster from falling to the Varden’s army, but once the Shade has been created, he is beyond anyone’s control, and even the sorcerers who created him fear him. Though both Durza and Varaug both are slain before they have a chance to go rogue, what we do see of them reveals how dangerous, crafty, and uncontainable Shades are, and how foolish one must be to think that he can control a one for his own benefit.</span>
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  <span>Shades in the Inheritance Cycle show us the consequences of relationships entered for self-serving reasons. When one person seek only to use the other, as the sorcerer seeks to use the spirits, at best the used party will stay around for a time and then leave. At worst, as with Shades, an antagonistic relationship of mutual enslavement will develop, culminating in the destruction of the individuals and the formation of a codependent whole in which each party feeds off the other. The comparison to real-life codependency and emotional “vampires” is obvious. Like the Riders, sorcerer and spirits become one flesh, here in the most literal sense. Unlike the Riders, though, the Shade remains hungry for yet more power, and must continue to devour and enslave in a hopeless attempt to satiate his boundless hunger. The Riders are complete individuals together, while the Shades are ever-incomplete, ever-consuming, many forced into one body and yet never filled and never content. The relationship built on enslavement, rather than mutual love and understanding, begets only emptiness and more enslavement.</span>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Ra'zac and Inversion of Christianity</h2></a>
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  <span>I frequently find myself wondering if Paolini is or was Catholic– his last name is Italian, and he was home schooled, which is prevalent among seriously Catholic families. The reason for my question is not just because of the Catholic-type aesthetics of the Helgrind cathedral and possible throwaway lines like the one mentioned above. Plenty of creators riff on Catholic imagery because it’s culturally legible and also very cool. What got me thinking about this is the way the ancient language of Alagaesia works. The ontology of the world is structured through these words, with each created thing (including people) having its own word or name, and that word being not merely a useful handle by which to hold and manipulate concepts, but a marker of what the thing is. Categories are real, Self and Other are real, and there is an underlying order to the world. Using these words of power enables a person to shape the world to some degree, thus participating in the act of creation. This all sounds very Christian to me– “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made” (John 1:1-3). Think also of the creation account in Genesis, where God speaks the world into existence. Reading as an adult, I also have noticed some obvious biblical allusions which went over my head as a secular-raised child. It’s possible that these aspects of the series are just there through cultural osmosis, or were lifted from Tolkien, but because of how deeply they permeate the work, I am inclined to think that they are intentional.</span>
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  <span>Is there a real God or set of gods in Alagaesia? I lean towards yes, due to the above biblical parallel regarding the ancient language. Spirits unequivocally exist, as does magic, but they seem to be part of that universe’s physical laws rather than divine. Eragon has an ambiguous encounter with a deity of the dwarves’ religion, and perhaps that god is the God of Alagaesia. Regardless, the answer to this question is not quite clear, and is left up to the reader– one can find support for a variety of conclusions, including the agnosticism of the elves. I like that Paolini leaves room for readers’ speculations in this and many other questions within the world of Alagaesia.</span>
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  <span>Now on to the Ra’zac and their religion. What do I mean when I say that the religion of Helgrind is an inversion of Christianity? It’s not just that the Dras-Leona cathedral lifts its aesthetics straight from real-life Catholic churches. In Christianity, what is spirituality/a relationship with the divine supposed to be? It is the ultimate becoming human through relation with another. We know God and are known by Him, and through this relation we become who we are supposed to be in Him. God gives us His Son, we give God ourselves, and through this relationship we are transfigured. The Christian gives himself and his own will over to God, and God gives back more than He receives, completed and made better, just as one gives himself to the other in mundane relationships– people become fully themselves in relationships to others, the relationship with God being the source and greatest example. Through God’s love and in loving Him, we are deified. God became man so that man might become God– this truth is at the center of a human being’s relationship with God.</span>
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  <span>But, between the Ra’zac and their worshipers, there is no love, only fear on the part of the people and greed on the part of the Ra’zac. The people give themselves up to the Ra’zac, but are not transfigured– they are only consumed, in the most literal sense. This sustains the Ra’zac for a time and appeases them enough that they won’t eat other people, but it never lasts, and they are still empty, because they are turned in on themselves and do not love. The union of the Ra’zac and their worshipers is not regenerative, only consumptive. This contrast with healthy spirituality is strengthened by a clear biblical allusion– the lord of Dras-Leona is named Lord Tabor, for the mountain on which the Transfiguration happens in the gospels, where Christ’s divine essence is revealed and which prefigures the transfiguration of humans through their relationship to Christ. But, Helgrind is a mountain of darkness, not of light. Instead of being transfigured by divine light, the devotees of the Ra’zac are consumed by darkness. Instead of being regenerated through the sacraments, especially Christ’s body and blood, they give up their own body and blood to the Ra’zac and receive nothing in return. Instead of a mutually loving relationship of knowing and being known, they have been duped into believing man-eating monsters are gods, and know not the true nature of the Ra’zac, nor are they loved by them.</span>
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  <span>What does this inversion mean in the context of the Inheritance Cycle’s themes? The Ra’zac, as a foil for the Dragon Riders, are turned inward. Both the Ra’zac and the Riders in the books are the last of ancient, nearly-extinct orders. Both are mysterious, powerful figures that travel throughout the land accomplishing various quests and maintaining law and order along with their flying steeds. However, while the Riders consist of a partnership between a dragon and a human or elf, bringing together two different, complementary people who love and understand one another and who use their shared and enhanced powers for the benefit of others, the Ra’zac partner only with members of their own species (the flying mounts being the adult phase and the humanoid riders being the juvenile phase of development). The Dragon Riders are by their very nature an exercise in loving and understanding the other, and thus turn outward. The Ra’zac, in contrast, self-centered and turned inwards, are utterly alone. As a result, they do not love, and remain empty. Instead of symbolizing fulfillment through relation with the other, they represent an endless void and boundless hunger that must enslave and consume in a vain attempt to be filled. Their devotees perform human sacrifice monthly, and it is no coincidence that Dras-Leona is the center of the Empire’s slave trade, nonexistent in the Dragon Riders’ age but flourishing in their absence. Even setting themselves up as gods with a steady stream of human sacrifices to eat, they remain empty and alone, and only spread misery. In portraying the Ra’zac-centered religion of Dras-Leona as a corrupted inversion of Christianity, Paolini shows the spiritual consequences of consumption-focused self-centeredness and its contrast with the selfless love of giving oneself wholly to another.</span>
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